Elle's Pov
My morning is already a disaster. My phone won't stop screaming. The vibrations are a constant, low thrum against the wooden desk. Pings and notifications slide across the screen faster than my brain can process them. I don't even have to open anything to know what it is.
Damian's press release from last weekend has gone viral. His speech, clipped, reposted, and stripped of all context, is now the foundation of the public narrative.
Damian Blackwell, the wronged man. Marielle Morgan, the gold-digger who lied about a baby.
Fraud. Liar. Gold-digger.
Pick a name, they say.
Marielle Morgan or Seraphina Carrington, which one are you today?
My chest tightens until it aches. Someone has turned my name into a hashtag, a joke, a public debate. Even my foundation is trending now, dragged into the mess like collateral damage. The burn behind my eyes isn't just exhaustion but fury.
